


Reclaiming Faith (an Almost There remix)

by May



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Body Swap, Consent Issues, Gen, Knives, references to rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 08:32:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12055200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/May/pseuds/May
Summary: After waking from a coma, and stealing Buffy's body, Faith attempts to reclaim her space in the world.





	Reclaiming Faith (an Almost There remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deird1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deird1/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Almost There](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18224) by [deird1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deird1/pseuds/deird1). 



Buffy’s house is warmly lit, and smells of dinner and floral air freshener and that smell you get after vacuuming. Home stuff, mom stuff. Faith remembers that, now, from when she first met Buffy, and on Christmas day. The monsters were outside, and the family was inside.

Hugging herself, Joyce watches the cops take Buffy away and she looks sad, or concerned. Faith sees the back of her own head disappear into a police car, and she wonders if Joyce must know, even just a little. Good mothers should know things like that, right? Well, Faith can deal with her-

Then, Joyce says something about Faith. Poor sad Faith, never had any friends. Should have been helped, blah blah blah. Too little, too late, Joyce. It was always too late. Maybe Willow deserves a little respect for telling it like it really was. Just a little, though.

“Maybe she likes being that way,” says Faith, and her little Buffy voice comes out all plaintive and self-righteous. Oh, right.

Faith makes a joke about it, something nasty and crude that Buffy would never say. It’s about something happening to Buffy, it’s about something that was supposed to happen to Faith.

Joyce’s mouth drops open and she scolds. Faith steps back, inwardly and outwardly. She’s never been used to being scolded, not really. Scolding is not what happens to Faith when she’s out of line. Except for the Mayor, and she doesn’t feel like thinking about him. It’s too much.

“Sorry,” says Faith, quietly. Joyce is looking at her like Faith doesn’t do things like that, like she doesn’t say things like that, and it makes something strange break inside her. Like, something warm and sugar-powdery cracked open in her chest. Is she fucked up enough to like this? From _Buffy’s mom_ of all people?

“I’m going upstairs,” she says, and she leaves Joyce to do whatever it is that moms are supposed to do.

 

Buffy’s room is soft and pastel and it’s made up of everything she is. There’s a strapless sundress hanging on the closet door, pomegranate red to go against tan skin. There’s pictures of Buffy and her friends, and they wanted to be Faith’s friends for a second, too.  There’s stuffed animals that she’s brought to Sunnydale, and Faith makes eye-contact with the pig sitting on the bed. It stares back, its eyes black and glossy plastic, there for Buffy when she needs to cuddle something after slaying, Faith guesses. She did spend a long time swollen and empty over Angel, after all.

Faith turns away, and it’s time to rummage through Buffy’s things. Might as well, since she’s here, it’s good to know about all of the corners of Buffy’s life that she was allowed to fill with things. It’s okay, Faith likes being free, it’s easier to be what she is, rather than a collection of objects, right? But Buffy’s entire life seems to be here, and she’s never left anything behind. There’s probably second grade papers around here, packaged and brought lovingly from LA, just because they were hers.

Faith opens the closet to see rows of clothes, not so neatly arranged, but Joyce will probably be in here later to sort that out, probably. Anyway, there wasn’t much in there, but at least she has leather pants in a couple of colors, because sometimes even Buffy wants to spice it up a little. There’s shoes in the bottom of the closet, and you need to rummage a little to find the boot that goes with that boot.

She finds it, and it’s leaning against a box, hidden in the corner. It’s flat and rectangular, like a chocolate box, and it’s red, too. Old Valentine’s day present, couldn’t hurt to check it out. Faith retrieves it from its corner, and takes it to Buffy’s desk to unwrap. It’s clearly an old chocolate box, but it’s scuffed and a little heavier than it should be, and it rattles like chocolates don’t. Faith lifts the lid with Buffy’s fingers and almost drops it when she sees what’s inside.

It’s the knife. That knife, its blade curved and its handle carved. Buffy kept it, like some kind of prize, or a memento. Faith’s breath hitches in her throat, because she’s dreamt of that knife, over and over again throughout all the months that she was in a coma. It was always in Buffy’s hand, never hers. Faith dreamt of the Mayor: they took picnics, went to the fairground, ate breakfast out, and tons of other stuff. Faith doesn’t enjoy cozy shit like that, but she enjoyed them in the dreams, with him. Then Buffy would appear, upright and blonde and unstoppable, killing the Mayor every time with Faith’s own knife, as easily as anything. Because he was Faith’s, not hers.

Faith touches it, gingerly at first, running her fingers over the carved handle. It was old, probably, and precious. The only thing she had that nobody else could have. Faith picks it up, curling her fingers around that handle and it feels weighty enough, and light enough. And, it’s hers, again.

The knife catches the gentle lamplight, and the sharp edge glints. The insides of Buffy’s forearms are so, so soft. Faith lowers the knife and presses its edge against the skin. A shiver of pain runs under her skin, and she turns it to its tip to trace a fine line, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to cause a sting as the blood shifts underneath, making the skin taut and white.

She hisses, and she thinks about just plunging it in, breaking the skin, tearing through muscle, past bone, or maybe through. This thing can cut through bone. She can mutilate this body, make it hurt, break it and maybe even take something away from it. The same blade once cut into her, had sliced in between her organs like she was some creature to be disposed of. And Buffy had once had the audacity to be understanding, like she could, somehow, make everything okay.

She’s the one left with the broken body, now, though. Maybe not physically broken, because the only downside to slayer resilience is making itself known, now – Buffy won’t feel the twinge of a scar in her gut, she won’t feel the effects of several months in a coma. There will be no moment in those filthy prison showers where she looks down at herself and sees a line of thick tissue marring a stomach that should be smooth.

Faith puts the knife down. Nah, she needs that arm, anyway; it’s hers, now. Plus, she needs to take a bath and order some plane tickets. Can’t stick around here.

In the bathroom, she strips down, leaving Buffy’s clothes on the floor, and begins running a bath. Faith stretches in front of the mirror, before it steams up. She’s never seen _this_ , before. Her new body looks fragile, but alluringly dainty. She has cute little tits, and Faith is a little bummed about that one, but it’s not as if she looks bad naked, now, or anything.

She takes her bath and rises clean and fresh. She makes Buffy’s voice say things in the mirror. Things she might say, turning it towards the domineering, like some school hall monitor, then with a breathy cutesiness, like some little blonde porn star. Then she makes the voice say things that Buffy would never say. Crude things, violent things that Buffy would never admit to. Fucking monsters, fucking people, fucking herself, taking everything that she wants. Things that are bad. Faith laughs.

After that, she positions her too-flat ass into leather pants, and manoeuvres her small tits inside a tank top so they show just enough. She orders those plane tickets – this is working, she has a space, now. Faith stares at the knife on the desk, after that, then she picks it up and slides it neatly into a black purse. That’ll do, she’ll take that back, at least.

 

Downstairs, Joyce tells Faith that her friends have called, and Faith figures that she might as well go take Buffy’s place among her personal little army. They’re all there: Willow, Giles, Xander, some girl she doesn’t remember. Apparently Buffy has been taken by the watcher’s council, and Faith laughs and laughs at that one. For once, Buffy stepped into a space meant for Faith, and she’s paying for it.

Willow wants to spend a little while in a room with Faith – like she’d win. Faith almost slides the knife out of her bag and plunges it through Willow’s gut. Faith considers killing everybody in this room; arch little Willow, who liked Faith until she didn’t, who should really try sinking just a little lower; Xander, who probably still thinks they have ‘some kind of connection’ and, had she looked like Faith usually looks, would be all into convening on that. Buffy’s daddy Giles, who could watch his little girl kill him, die looking at her covered in his blood. Yeah, that would be great, and Faith feels a rush of catharsis at the very thought of it.

It might defeat the purpose, though, of running away, and she doesn’t want to deal with four bodies. She’ll go kill vampires, next, the knife sitting unbloodied in her bag. Great, she can go and party, so she does. It’s the first time she’s done this since she got put into a coma, and it feels good to let go and drink and flirt and find William the Bloody with a chip in his head. He wants to eat her up in every single way, so she teases him, and leaves him so hard that it’s got to hurt. Everyone wants to fuck this perky, golden little body.

Willow is there with some wet blanket of a girl. Huh. Interesting. The girl stammers and blinks and Faith can’t resist pulling at her when Willow leaves. Wow, that is a walking victim if Faith has ever seen one. It’s a wonder she hasn’t been eaten yet. Faith wonders if Willow has eaten her yet. She doesn’t make Buffy say this, but she could.

There’s also a vampire, which Faith has to go and kill because Buffy would. Whatever, it’s not like that’s not fun. He’s got some girl in a lock, but Faith makes easy work of him, and he explodes into dust. Ahh, she hasn’t seen that in a while. The girl, weak and frightened like most people are, looks at Faith, says thank you.

Faith doesn’t expect that, doesn’t really want that. It’s not the same as being scolded but, wow, being told thank you for something so small after all the things she’s done that someone like this would never thank her for.

Faith can feel the knife in her bag, and there’s still no point in using it on humans, but vampires can at least be cut open, so she actually patrols for a while. She finds some huge brute, and he’s not even feeding, just smoking in an alleyway. She creeps up on him, and gets him on the floor before he can exhale, manually through dead lungs.

She keeps her stake handy, and brings out the knife. He stares at it, confusion in his yellow eyes. Before giving a small, wheezy laugh, because it’s a _knife_. Faith smirks, holds him still, because Buffy can do that, just as easily. She draws the blade across his throat, and the skin still breaks, and he gives a bubbly growl and struggles, teeth snapping. Cold blood begins to seep out of the wound.

What should happen, is that this starts making the blade hers, again. What should happen. But watching it break skin makes her remember that it slid inside her so easily. One quick moment after a fright, and she felt the cold metal and the sharp heat of pain. Her own blood had dripped warm. She stakes the vampire.

She tries it with more of them. A blonde chick in a corset has lines carved into her chest. A dude in a suit has it thrust into his gut. Cold, unflowing blood drips onto Faith’s hands, and it should be like coming home, but she starts to think that it might never be hers, again.

Later, Buffy’s boyfriend Riley doesn’t want to use the body as he could, and Faith feels wrong, wrong, wrong laying underneath him. Afterwards, she goes back to Buffy’s room and finds a dress, light and diaphanous, that isn’t Faith, at all.

She puts the knife back into its box – it isn’t Faith’s, either.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you! I read Almost There and had to write about Faith finding out that Buffy had the knife.


End file.
